


Rated R for Explicit Language

by stereokem



Series: Blue Streak [1]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Accent, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, Glasses video feed, Harry Hart-Throb, Harry Lives AU Obviously, Harry as Arthur, Humor, Implied Anal Sex, M/M, Swearing, Vocal Fetish, Voyeurism, a bit of sexy, as in a whole hell of a lot of swearing, cheek, implied fingering, obviously, probably not what you're expecting, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 11:38:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3486896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereokem/pseuds/stereokem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gary "Eggsy" Unwin had a filthy fucking mouth. </p><p>(Fortunately, so did Harry Hart).</p><p>-----<br/>Merlin buzzed into being over both of their coms. “Galahad. Arthur. You two all right?”</p><p>“Yeah, we’re fucking fantastic, ‘fanks. We’re comin’ out, tell me you’ve got extraction on the fucking stand-by.”</p><p>“Did you—”</p><p>“Yeah, we fucking got it done, an’ now genius ‘ere ‘as got ‘imself a bloody injury, so tell me you’ve extraction outside, yeah?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rated R for Explicit Language

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely unrelated to “death went dancing” and written in a much different tone/mood. I wrote this purely for fun, and because Marli has a fascination with Taron Egerton’s elocution in the film. Cheers, dear.
> 
> ALSO: This work has been podficced by the wonderful Zip (see end notes)!

**(-KM-)**

            Gary “Eggsy” Unwin had a _filthy_ fucking mouth.

            Where exactly that information came in as a surprise is still somewhat a mystery to Harry Hart. Before offering him a Kingsmanship, Harry had spent at least enough time in the young man’s company to discern that his vocabulary was not of the most polished variety.

            However, it was one thing to hear Eggsy’s vulgarities tossed around in everyday conversation, and quite another to hear them in _this_ context.

            _“Ahh, Jesus— fuck_ , _”_ Eggsy’s voice floated through the speakers in Harry’s scarlet study, and he deigned to turn down the volume a few notches. Pointless, because the flat was soundproof, but . . . _well._

Sighing, Harry sat up straighter in his chair, the index finger of his left hand circling the rim of his snifter of brandy. Contrary to what it felt like, he could rest assured that this is not voyeurism. He was sitting at home after a long day, reviewing the feed from Eggsy’s last solo assignment. It had been a honeypot mission, Eggsy’s second, and it had gone off fairly smoothly until the very end when Eggsy had met with a bit of a scuffle; as the new Arthur and codename Galahad’s mentor, part of Harry’s job was to determine when and where Eggsy made mistakes, point them out to him, and make note of it in his next progress report. 

            No, this was not voyeurism. He was watching this because it was his job, not because he was getting _any_ personal enjoyment out of it. There wasn’t much to see in any case, Eggsy having taken his glasses off and set them on what was presumably a nightstand before climbing into bed with the target. Other than a catalogue-worthy view of some prime crown molding, Harry could see nothing but the dim shift of shadows.

            Not that he needed to see. Eggsy’s voice filled in the empty space with its husky growls and his words left very little to the imagination.

            _“Oh, shit, yeah—fuck, give me ano’ver one, I can take it— fuck, your fingers are bloody fantastic—”_

            For the last minute or so, there had been a small sound in the background of something decidedly slick sliding back and forth. It seemed to grow louder now, as if to challenge Eggsy’s breathy moaning. The mark, whom so far had made little sound except the occasional affirmative to Eggsy’s demands, finally spoke, his own voice ragged.

            _“Tell me you want it, you cockwhore,”_ said the gruff male voice. _“Show me how needy you are.”_

            Deliberately, Harry brought the snifter to his mouth and took a decisive swallow. Lord almighty, how did Merlin _listen_ to this? How did _Chester_ listen to this? Harry frowned. Oh, god, no, don’t think about that. Picturing old, pruny, snide, classist Chester King listening to something as, well, quite honestly, _craven_ as this did not sit well in his mind. He did not even want to begin to think about his own missions.

            While Harry was busy with these thoughts (or, rather, trying not to be busy with them) Eggsy it seemed had taken his target’s instructions to heart, and was responding with fervor. His voice snaked into Harry’s brain, wrapping around his skull, sinking into his nerves; it traveled through his spinal cord and down the vertebral column to the base of his spine where it puddled and tugged at an entirely different piece of anatomy. 

            _“Oh, fucking Christ, **please** —I want your cock, god I want you to slide in hard and fucking split me open. God, I bet you’re big, aren’t you? Yeah. I need it, give it to me— **f-fuck!”**_

            Without his notice, Harry’s grip on his drink had tightened to the point where the pads of his fingers were pressed firmly enough to leave perfect imprints against the glass. He listened to the unmistakable and obscene sound of hot flesh slapping hot flesh to the stuttering praise of nonsensical profanities that eventually turned into little more than pants as the pace quickened and grew erratic.

            Finally, there was a grunt, followed by the sound of Eggsy’s own muffled groan. Harry willed the muscles in his abdomen to relax. He sat there, breathing deeply through his nose as he watched Eggsy make sure the target was well and truly passed out, retrieve the pertinent information from the man’s laptop, and slink out of the hotel room.

            By the time Eggsy was halfway down the hallway, Harry was back in full Arthur-mode. The rest of the video feed was comparatively uneventful, and he was secretly grateful. He stopped watching when Eggsy climbed into the Kingsman cab, minimizing the video feed and pulling up his report to finish making notes.

            Before sending the draft to Merlin, he reviewed it, eyes lingering over the last line of text he had entered. That last bullet point in his report shimmered before him innocuously on the screen. His finger hovered over the backspace bar on his keyboard, itching to press down.

            In the end, he sent the report without his addendum. As Arthur, he aws entitled to some idiosyncrasies, but he felt that there were some phrases that had absolutely no place in official missives.

            Silently (and sardonically) congratulating himself on his display of self-restraint, he moved on to open up some paperwork of a much duller variety. If it took another snifter and a half of brandy to completely put the thought out of his mind, there was no one to scold him.

 

**(-KM-)**

 

            Harry shut the laptop mid-stream just as a particularly loud groan of “FUCK” began to yawn out of his speakers.

            He sat there, in his high-backed chair in his office at HQ, mouth pressed together and eyebrows threatening to disappear into his hairline.

            From the doorway of his office there was a cough, and then a slightly awkward knock to follow the one that had come mid-moan.

            Harry mentally cursed, and cleared his throat. “Come in.”

            The door eased open to allow in the tall, though slightly unassuming form of Merlin. The look he gave Harry as he entered left no question as to whether he had heard anything from the last few minutes. Harry had the ridiculous urge to tell him that this wasn’t what it looked like—even though it was.

            Merlin stood just before Harry’s desk, clipboard in hand; he nodded his head once at the closed laptop.

            “Galahad?”

            Realizing that he still had a hand pressed over the cover of the laptop, Harry quickly removed it and sat back. “Quite.”

            Merlin gave him a look that was almost sympathetic. “Whatever it is, I can assure you I’ve seen worse.”

            Harry sat back in his chair, straightening his shoulders and smoothing his tie. “There was nothing to see,” he replied evenly. “Galahad is always very considerate when he removes his glasses. It’s the . . . semantics.” He didn’t really know how to qualify that last sentence, so he let it hang in the air.

            Merlin, ever perceptive, formed his lips into an expression of “ah”. “He can be quite vocal, your successor,” he said. The corner of his severe mouth quirked minutely. “Though he shuts it up quite a bit around you.”

            Harry found himself blinking slowly at that remark. “Does he?”

            Merlin tilted his head ever so slightly, dark eyes surveying Harry with an unreadable expression. “Sure. Haven’t you noticed?”

            “No.”

            Merlin continued to stare at him, and Harry was reminded (with no amount of affection) of a tarantula’s unnerving gaze upon prey soon to be eaten. He had forgotten how eerie it was to be the sole subject of Merlin’s uncanny attention. “Why do you suppose he does that?” Merlin asked, his Scottish lilt soft and chary.

            Harry sighed, somewhat emphatically. “Respect?” he hazarded.

            Merlin’s mask of stoicism broke, and he cracked a sly grin. “Or something. It may have escaped your notice, Harry, but that kid is over the moon for you. He’d do just about anything for your approval.” He paused. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s in love.”

            At this, Harry pursed his lips. “Did you have something for me, Merlin, or are you just here to gossip?” his tone was more than slightly acidic, but there was no real bite behind it. 

            “I do, actually,” said the other Kingsman smoothly, removing several packets of paper from his clipboard. He handed them out to Harry, who took them somewhat grudgingly. He had known Merlin for a long time, long enough to truly appreciate and despise how easy it was for the man to switch between cool professionalism and sly insinuation. “Reports from Lancelot’s mission in Mumbai, Ector’s in Estonia, Galahad’s report from that mission,” he nodded to the laptop, “and last month’s weapons expenditure. Oh, and you have a meeting with Tristan at 1400 to discuss her next assignment.”

            “Thank you.”

 

**(-KM-)**

 

            It pained him to admit it, but Merlin was right.

            Granted, it was Merlin’s job to be right, as he was tasked with both outfitting the field agents for battle and keeping constant vigilance over the organization’s workings. He was suited to it well; perhaps too well.

            The next video-feed from one of Galahad’s mission had Harry watching the young man’s actions and locutions more intently than before. This assignment, thankfully, didn’t require Galahad to seduce anyone (nor did it give him any opportunity); he had been teamed up with Lancelot to complete a hostage-rescue in America (Kentucky, of all fucking places). The feed started when he and Lancelot were approaching the complex in which the hostages were being held, and was so shaky that it had to be supplemented with footage Merlin managed to scrounge from the complex itself. Nevertheless, Harry regarded it intently and saw, to his consternation and unsurprise, that Merlin was absolutely fucking right.

            Though the mission itself required a minimal amount of talking between agents, there was a rough patch that had Eggsy and Roxy backed into a corner; Eggsy was grazed on the upper arm by a bullet, which prompted a flurry of words that Harry hadn’t heard in the same breath since someone had put a virus on Merlin’s personal laptop. The wound, while not serious, seemed to have fouled both Eggsy’s mood and his language for the rest of the assignment. Even once the hostages had been collected and the two Kingsmen were safely aboard the private jet back to the UK, Eggsy was complaining and running his mouth to Roxy (who either rolled her eyes or threatened to punch him in his bad arm if he didn’t shut up).

            The video feed should have stopped sometime along the plane ride, but it didn’t. Instead, fast-fowarding through the next few hours led him to Eggsy and Roxy stepping off the plane, into a cab, and heading back to HQ to report.

            It was then that he got to see himself through Eggsy’s eyes.

            Eggsy and Roxy were sitting at the table, yawning and chatting with mugs of hot tea and lemon before them. There was the sound of softly clicking shoes, and Eggsy’s camera feed jerked up just in time to see Harry stepping into the room.

            There was a slight shift in the camera angle at that precise moment, and if he weren’t looking at the feed so intently he might have missed it; but there was no mistaking that little movement.

            Eggsy had just given him an once-over.

            What was more, when Eggsy and Roxy began giving their verbal report on the goings-on of Kentucky, Harry was surprised to find that Eggsy’s speech had shifted dramatically.

            Just seconds before, when he was speaking only to Roxy, his speech was casual: slurred vowels, casual swear words inserted like punctuation, colloquial jibber-jabber. As soon as he began speaking to Harry, though, Eggsy’s diction became crisper, his words more carefully chosen, and not once did he swear.

            Not bloody once.

            And it wasn’t just that single feed either. More and more, as he watched Eggsy navigate his assignments, watched and listened to how he interacted with other people, Harry felt like the person he was meeting in the debriefing room was not quite the same young man whose visual perspective he continued to dip into.

            Of course, the cursing wasn’t the only thing Merlin was right about.

            Over the course of the next few weeks, it became increasingly apparent that Eggsy was a bit . . . well, _taken_ with Harry.

            It wasn’t obvious—or maybe it was. As a Kingsman, he was trained to gauge the finer points of body language and facial expression. If it was obvious, it definitely wasn’t grand: the proof lay in the little things. The way Eggsy’s eyes tended to hold his gaze longer than was actually necessary. Eggsy’s smiles, which were warm from the inside and made the edges of his blue eyes crinkle. The way Eggsy was always offering to do things for him, get the door, make tea, run reports around HQ like he was Harry’s secretary. The frequency with which Eggsy managed to touch him, a hand on his shoulder, his arm, the middle of his back. The touches especially he had become hyperaware of.  Every single one would leave him wondering when the next would come.

 

**(-KM-)**

 

            The next time Merlin walked into his office whilst Harry was watching a video feed of Eggsy’s latest mission, Harry didn’t bother shutting down the laptop.

            The perplexed look on Merlin’s face was fairly priceless, but Harry didn’t trust himself to look at it for too long. He kept his attention on the screen—even though, as per with Galahad’s missions, nothing of the actual act could be seen.

            After multiple attempts to use headphones for this sort of work (he binned the idea after a time, as they curtailed his ability to be aware of the rest of his surroundings), Harry had resolved to get through Eggsy’s honeypot missions by viewing them on a faster-replay setting. The effect was . . . interesting. While it cut down the time necessary to observe and make notes about the mission, it made Eggsy (and whoever his partner was at the time) sound like he’d inhaled several lungfuls of helium.

            Merlin continued to stare at him as the tiny voice from the laptop panted obscenely.

_“Oh fuck, fuck yes, ah, bloody **fucking** **hell** —” _

            “Yes?” Harry asked the still silent Merlin as he typed up a note from earlier in the tape into his report. The female from the video screamed, and it sounded like an insect dying.                                   

            Slinking almost dazedly back into motion, Merlin held up a sheath of papers. “Reports, sir. And new weapons designs that need your approval before I begin constructing prototypes.”

            Sighing haggardly, Harry stopped the video and saved his typing. He accepted the papers from Merlin with evident distaste. “Fuck. More reports. Nothing but reports. If this is what it means to be Arthur, I’d like my old job back, please.”

            Merlin brought his clipboard up and began tapping away at it, his expression thoughtful. “We could put you in the field for a short run,” he said. “There’s a local assignment coming up. Minimal danger, but the situation is a mite tricky, and it should allow you to stretch your legs a bit.”

            “God, yes, anything.”

            Merlin nodded. “It’s a two-person job. Three would be better, but two is the most we can spare. You’ll be partnering with . . .” he made a few more taps. “Galahad. I’ll send you the files. Briefing tomorrow at 0700, have you both out and about by 0800.”

            “Fine, good.” It didn’t matter that he would be working with Galahad—truth be told, he had missed the company of his young student, and the prospect of working alongside him was both novel and intriguing. Since he’d become Arthur, he hadn’t taken a single assignment himself, so he and Eggsy had never worked together before; he was interested to experience first-hand how far the young man had come. And it would be nice to once again interact with him in an environment that was less . . . formal.

            Nodding once to himself, Harry thanked Merlin and turned to the paperwork he had been handed, a small niggling of anticipation growing warm in his stomach.

**(-KM-)**

 

            As Harry later found out, it only takes two people to turn a three-person job into a shit show and a half. Especially when one of those people isn’t nearly as focused as he ought to be.

            To be fair, however, there wasn’t supposed to be a bloody bomb.

            Albeit, it was a small one, more on par with the level of magnitude of a hand-grenade. Because Eggsy had been on edge and fidgety the entire mission, keeping his eyes more on Harry than their immediate surroundings, Eggsy saw the device just two seconds after Harry did. By the time Eggsy was opening his mouth to yell at Harry to move, Harry had already shoved Eggsy back and thrown him down on the other side of a concrete wall, following him to the ground and covering Eggsy with his body.

            Harry felt the blast reverberate through his entire being, shaking his heart in its cage. Their concrete shield was thick and it held, though some of the ceiling above them cracked and fell, pieces of it thudding onto Harry’s back and legs. His ears were ringing and everything in his body had gone taught, as if his muscles were frozen in their tensed state.

            It had been a while since someone tried to blow him up, and so his recovery from the blast was a bit slower than he generally remembered. The next thing he knew, he was being hoisted up, his arm being slung over a broad shoulder and a hand placing itself firmly on his waist.

            “Let go, Galahad.” He could hear himself, but it sounded as though he was muffled. Hearing damage. Great.

            The grip on his waist and wrist only tightened as Eggsy staggered forward, trying to bear the weight of them both. “Shut up, you fucking arsehole.”

            “I’m fine,” he heard himself protest, but even as he said it, he could feel that something was wrong. There was an unpleasant twinge in his left calf, a sort of throb that beat in time with the ringing of his ears.

            “Like shit you are,” Eggsy growled, and Harry realized that he was leaning so heavily on Eggsy that the words came out very close to his neck. “Christ, Merlin!”

            Merlin buzzed into being over both of their coms. _“Galahad. Arthur. You two all right?”_

            “Yeah, we’re fucking fantastic, ‘fanks. We’re comin’ out, tell me you’ve got extraction on the fucking stand-by.”

            _“Did you—”_

            “Yeah, we fucking got it done, an’ now genius ‘ere ‘as got ‘imself a bloody injury, so _tell me_ you’ve extraction outside, yeah?”

            _“Just beyond the perimeter,”_ replied Merlin, not sounding at all affected by Eggsy’s short or profane words. 

            Biting back a groan as they stepped hazardously over some rubble and he jarred what he suspected was the aforementioned injury, he tried to get the younger agent’s attention. “Eggsy—”

            But Eggsy squeezed his wrist in warning. “An’ not ano’ver fucking word out of you ‘til we’re back at base.”

**(-KM-)**

 

            Eggsy was disturbingly quiet once they were safely in the armored Kingsman car and on their way back to HQ. He barely looked at Harry, sitting as far away from him as possible (which, in a European SUV is only so far), furiously pick-typing away on a tablet; the few looks he did send Harry’s way were sharp, fleeting, and more than a little angry. As if the bomb was Harry’s fault.

            He set his jaw in a firm line, refusing to feel guilty. He was too preoccupied with his hearing, which was slowly but thankfully returning, and stealing glances at the soot that had settled at Eggsy’s hairline and the cut on his left cheek.

            What with the attitude that had been displayed in the extraction car, Harry had expected Eggsy to leave in a huff once they were at headquarters. To his surprise, Eggsy followed behind silently as a nurse rushed him to medical; once in the infirm, Eggsy hovered near the doorway as a doctor took a look at Harry’s injured leg, and declared the wound moderately superficial. It looked as though a sharp piece of debris had fallen and pierce his calf, but not deeply; it would give a large bruise and need a few stitches, but was otherwise not serious.

            It surprised both Harry and the physician when Eggsy, after watching the latter carefully stitch Harry up, offered to apply the dressing. The doctor simply looked Eggsy over once, identified him as another Kingsman, shrugged, and gave his consent.

            Harry felt like protesting, but the doctor was gone before he could force words out of his dry throat.

            Eggsy stepped forward then, and Harry looked up. They met eyes, and for a hot second Harry thought the younger man was going to say something. Instead, Eggsy broke eye-contact, looking down to the bandages the doctor had left on the table.

            He touched Harry carefully, applying the dressing with deft skill; he first covered the wound with gauze and then applied a wrapping, the bandage was just tight enough to provide support but loose enough not to restrict blood flow. Harry tried not to, but he found himself lingering in the touches, trying to discern what they meant. The silence that ensued while all this happened was almost comfortable.

            But Harry had had enough of silence.

            He didn’t know exactly what made him say it; maybe he had a deathwish. Or maybe he just frustrated enough to want nothing more than a reaction. When it came out of his mouth, it sounded a bit like an accusation, and not the stoically stated fact he wanted it to be:

            “You were distracted today.”

            Eggsy’s hands froze where they had been sealing the bandage in place around Harry’s calf. His head whipped up, and he glared up at Harry with fierce blue eyes.

            “Are you saying this is my fault?”

            Harry was surprised to hear that, in the interim where they weren’t talking, Eggsy’s speech had changed again; while he had been dragging Harry out of the site, his street accent had come through full force and his words were peppered with curses. Now, they were more controlled, more deliberately spoken.

            “I am saying that you cannot afford to be preoccupied, Galahad,” Harry returned evenly. “Your mind was not on the mission.”

            Letting go of Harry’s leg, Eggsy rose to his feet and shifted his shoulders agitatedly. The anger was coming back, creeping through the creases of his singed suit and ruffled hair. “What do you expect, Arthur?” he asked, charge clear in his voice. “Why the hell were you on that assignment with me, anyway? You are _Arthur_ —this isn’t your damn job anymore. You aren’t supposed to be putting your life on the line, much less for me—”

            “Don’t be daft, Galahad,” Harry interrupted sharply. “Just because my title has changed does not mean that my responsibilities are not essentially the same.”

            The young man laughed mirthlessly, and it was like a switch had flipped, because the vexation was there in full force and the words that came out of his mouth belonged not to Galahad, but the Eggsy Harry had pulled out of the police station: honest, loyal, rough, _raw_.

            “Oh, fuck tha’, _Harry_ ,” Eggsy blurted, putting emphasis on his real name, “you could’ve – died. _Again_. An’ you’ve got _way_ more responsibilities now—you are _too fucking important_ to take the risk on a mission like this—”

            Harry sat up straighter, gripping at the sides of the examination table; despite his iron-clad control, he could feel his own frustration effervescing beneath the surface. _Stupid boy. Stupid, brave, impossible boy._

            “And that is for _you_ to decide, is it?”

            Though there was almost no space between them, Eggsy put his foot forward, crowding into Harry’s space even more and glaring down at him. “If you f’ink I’m gonna to watch you die again, you’ve got ano’ver fing coming you stupid fucking prat—”

            Without warning, Harry’s hand shot out and grasped Eggsy by the front of his ruffled, sooty shirt, dragging him down close so that they were at eye-level.

           “Eggsy,” he said in a quiet, dangerous voice, “ _shut your polluted trap_.”

           And before Eggsy could say another word, Harry used his other hand to grip Eggsy’s jaw and hold him in position whilst he pressed  their mouths together fiercely. For a heart-stuttering moment, it seemed as though Eggsy would not respond—but that moment passed quickly as Eggsy gave a little groan and shifted, easing himself onto the table next to Harry so that he could squeeze Harry’s thigh with one hand and grab his wrist with the other. Harry felt himself smirking into Eggsy’s mouth, and swiped gently at his bottom lip with his tongue; in response, Eggsy's lips parted, and Harry licked into the wet heat of his mouth. Eggsy gave another groan, and Harry moved his hand from Eggsy’s jaw to the back of his head. He gripped him by the hair and pulled slightly, working and fucking Eggsy’s mouth with his tongue to be rewarded with more whines and moans.

            When they finally broke apart Eggsy panted and blinked at him, looking a bit dazed; his blue eyes were wide with disbelief, and his pupils were dark. “I . . . don’t think gentlemen kiss like that,” he said slowly, shaking his head.

            Harry’s mouth quirked up in a not-so-nice smirk, and he kept his firm hold of Eggsy’s shirt. “I don’t think half of the things I want to do to you would qualify as remotely ‘gentlemanly’,” he admitted in a low voice.

            To his delight, Eggsy’s expression went from bemused and silly to wicked in the span of a second. He leaned in close again, and nipped slightly at Harry’s jaw, purring hot into his ear, “Tha’s all right by me, _sir._ ”

            Harry gave a small chuckle before tugging Eggsy back into another indecent kiss.

 

**(-KM-)**

 

            It was true: Gary “Eggsy” Unwin had a filthy fucking mouth.

            (But, fortunately, so did Harry Hart.)

 

            _Fin_.

**Author's Note:**

> There is now a companion smut fic to this work, called "The Platonic Blow" after the Auden poem. Go read, por favor. 
> 
> Also: I need Kingsman podfics asap.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Platonic Blow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3562094) by [stereokem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereokem/pseuds/stereokem)
  * [[Podfic] Rated R for Explicit Language](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3598803) by [Zip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zip/pseuds/Zip)




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